Don’t be fooled—although Yao Huang always couldn’t help wanting to dodge when Prince Hui kissed her neck, she actually quite enjoyed it. Otherwise, on their wedding night, the two wouldn’t have succeeded so easily.
She thought the prince would like it too. However, when she bent over Prince Hui’s shoulder and earnestly kissed his slender neck for quite a while, the man showed no reaction whatsoever. He didn’t even let his breathing become disordered once. Yao Huang couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps everyone’s neck was different, just like how her armpits were very ticklish, but her brother wasn’t afraid of being tickled there.
When she had tried to dodge, Prince Hui had pursued her quite vigorously, gripping her shoulders to prevent her escape.
That was the kind of prince Yao Huang anticipated. Now that he was like a block of wood, Yao Huang lost interest.
She propped herself up and looked at the prince’s complexion, which appeared slightly healthier in the lamplight. She asked in puzzlement, “Does the prince feel nothing?”
Zhao Sui glanced at her crimson lips and said, “Slightly itchy.”
Yao Huang: “…”
As if possessed by a mischievous spirit, she tickled his armpit.
Zhao Sui: “…”
Actually, no part of him was as unaffected as he made it appear. But Prince Hui had experienced lying in bed for three months healing his bones, lying in bed for a month waiting to die, and later being confined to a wheelchair and bamboo courtyard for more than half a year. He had “cultivated his character” for too long. At this point, even if someone pricked him with a needle or mocked him with the most vicious words, Zhao Sui could maintain his expression without any change.
What Yao Huang saw was a prince whose neck and armpits weren’t ticklish at all.
Yao Huang glanced at Prince Hui’s chest, hidden by his inner robe. To go there would require removing clothing, and Yao Huang wasn’t that bold yet. Even actively kissing the prince’s neck had been prompted by today’s accumulated good mood—her head had gotten hot and she’d naturally gone to kiss him.
As that impulse subsided, Yao Huang lay back down properly, incidentally using her sleeve to wipe away a bit of saliva she might have left on the prince’s neck.
The moment she touched him, the prince turned over. His strong right arm scooped her upward, delivering Yao Huang’s neck right before the prince.
Yao Huang immediately clutched his inner robe, gripping it, kneading it, and pulling at it as if she hated that piece of fabric, until the prince moved her hand away and slipped off her sleeves. Only then was this piece of fabric relieved, gloating as it watched the princess consort’s equally wrinkled inner robe being tossed aside by the prince, while it remained properly worn on the prince’s body.
“Prince, I want to turn over.”
“Mm.”
The herbaceous peonies in the garden were in full bloom. Yao Huang chose this place to have Prince Hui paint her first portrait.
The prince’s wheelchair stopped five paces before the flower bed. The easel was set up in front of him, with various ground pigments also placed within his easy reach.
Having finished all this, Qing Ai and Fei Quan withdrew successfully, leaving this entire area for the prince and princess consort to be alone.
Yao Huang was still pondering what pose to strike, because once she settled on a pose, she couldn’t move anymore—she had to think it through in advance. Bending over to admire flowers was too tiring, standing straight was too stiff. She wanted something more natural.
Zhao Sui watched silently without offering guidance.
Finally, Yao Huang stopped slightly sideways before a cluster of purplish-red herbaceous peonies. Her left hand held an exquisite round fan, pretending to have just fanned herself, lightly pressed against her chest. Her right hand lovingly supported a peony that leaned toward her. Her head wasn’t lowered but gazed toward a more distant flower cluster.
Yao Huang had once gone to the suburbs to view peach blossoms and from afar had observed some wealthy young ladies and officials’ daughters. She deliberately imitated their gentle, quiet bearing. Having studied etiquette in the palace for a month, Yao Huang learned quite convincingly. Those who didn’t know her would truly believe she came from a prominent noble family.
“Is this alright?”
Yao Huang tilted her head to look at the prince across from her. Actually, she didn’t tilt it much—just changed from looking at the peonies on the right side of the path to looking toward the end of the path.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Yao Huang used a smile as cover, but her clear, dark, luminous eyes couldn’t hide her shyness.
Zhao Sui said, “Yes, keep looking at me.”
Yao Huang: “…”
Fine, the prince surely knew better than her what pose and expression would make a more beautiful painting.
It was just that, as she kept looking, Yao Huang suddenly realized this seemed to be the first time she’d gazed at the prince for such a long time. When together during daylight, they were either eating or touring the garden. Nighttime need not even be mentioned.
It would be one thing if only she were looking at the prince, but the prince was also looking at her with such focused eyes that Yao Huang was reminded of last night, which had only recently passed.
Because the prince was willing to accommodate her and didn’t use such embarrassing and tiring positions, once Yao Huang relaxed, she unconsciously began cooperating. When he withdrew, she also withdrew; when he came, she met him, until she had no more strength to cooperate.
Heat crept up her cheeks. Yao Huang lowered her gaze.
Zhao Sui looked at the blank rice paper before him and found he couldn’t concentrate either. To force himself to paint would be perfunctory.
Yao Huang was someone who couldn’t endure stillness. After feeling she’d been standing for a very long time, she lifted her eyes to ask, “How much has the prince painted?”
Zhao Sui put down his brush: “Come see for yourself.”
She could move! Delighted, Yao Huang ran over, circled around the easel to stand beside the wheelchair, and faced that entire expanse of bare rice paper. Yao Huang froze.
Zhao Sui grasped her wrist and pulled her into his lap to hold.
Yao Huang instinctively looked left and right.
Zhao Sui said, “Without my orders, they won’t come over to disturb us.”
Setting aside her worry about being seen, Yao Huang immediately glared at him: “Why didn’t the prince paint? You made me stand for so long for nothing.”
Zhao Sui looked at her face: “Just now you suddenly blushed. What were you thinking about?”
Yao Huang replied, “…I was thinking whether the prince would find me too vain. The more I thought about it, the more embarrassed I became. What about the prince?”
Zhao Sui said, “I haven’t painted in a long time. My hand is out of practice for the moment. I didn’t want to force it.”
Yao Huang wasn’t disappointed at all: “Then let’s forget about today. The prince can practice more. Whenever your hand is ready, paint then.”
Zhao Sui agreed.
Yao Huang was very afraid she would crush the prince’s legs, which weren’t working well to begin with. She twisted her waist and struggled out of his arms, which weren’t holding her very tightly, and suggested, “Let me push the prince inside to admire the flowers, shall we?”
Zhao Sui nodded.
The flower bed grew at least a dozen varieties of herbaceous peonies. Yao Huang didn’t recognize any of them and had to ask the prince to help clear up her confusion.